The Pilfered Vixen
by Unquestionably Unhinged
Summary: "I should get myself a live-in one. That would be so funny." Of course, after he attains one, he'll wish he'd never set eyes on her, because hell hath no fury like- well, you know. Moriarty/OC
1. Human Breadknife

**Alright, here we go, I've only recently become a part of the Sherlock Fandom so you old timers gotta tell me how I'm doing, if anything needs to be changed or perfected or if I should just trash the story all together. You gotta let me know. Hopefully though, you'll like it.**

**Kay, regular thing, I own nothing from the Sherlock franchise. I own only Moira and even there, I'm starting to think she wants to start a mutiny.**

**So here we go, my lovlies.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

Paddington station was crowded, as it was everyday at this time. Lunch time, who would have thought it? I stepped gingerly off the packed train with my luggage, two large briefcases, and strolled over to a bench, where I placed my bags and stopped to tie my laces.

I pushed my blonde hair out of my face and stared down at my trainers with my forest green eyes. I was waiting for the arrival of someone important and what better way to pass the time then to do something that doesn't really need doing? Oh damn, there's a knot in this one. How'd that get there?

"Moira!" a voice cried over the shouting British folk. I turned quickly, nearly falling over, and a grin formed on my face as I made out the figure of my brother shoving his way towards me.

"John!" I cried back, leaving my bags and running to him. I pushed some poor bloke to the floor and jumped on John, who wobbled slightly but stood firm.

"Jesus, you're gonna take out my back." he laughed.

"And I'll stand over your poor, broken ol' body with pride!" I giggled, resting my head on top of his. "Now take me home."

"Oh no, you can walk yourself." and in one quick second, I was on the floor, grinning at the retreating form of my brother as he went to get my bags. I picked myself off the ground and was just about to go over to John when I saw _him_.

He was tall with curly black hair and wore a long black trench coat with his collar up and his cheek bones protruded on his face. They were really out there, weren't they, you could butter toast with those things.

"With what?" John asked, walking back with my briefcases in hand. I blushed and looked down at my feet.

"Nothing."

"You should really work on making your thoughts _stay thoughts_." he hollered back at me as he continued walking. It seemed we were headed straight for cheek bones over there.

I followed John silently, gazing at all the different types of people around the station. I caught two politicians, five drunken college students and someone with a parrot. I didn't even notice that John had stopped until I slammed into him.

"Christ Moira," he chuckled. "Not one second in London and you're already gone."

"You know me, John, can't stay in one place too long."

"Oh I remember, got _me_ into a lot of trouble, that little quirk of yours. Now come on, I've got someone I want you to meet."

I was a tad shorter than my brother, which made me very short indeed, so I had to run to catch up with him. Curse him and the way the army taught him to fast walk. And that little thing about London?

Well until recently, I have been living in a small village called Elton. Nice there, but I thought I'd try London, just for a bit. So I packed up, leaving my house under the watchful eye of my neighbor that has a rifle and headed off.

You could say I was looking for a summer home, except I wasn't. I just needed to get away from everything for a while, a long while perhaps; perhaps I wouldn't even go back, who knows?

We finally reached the tall man and John stopped in front of him, putting the cases on the ground.

"Moira, this is my friend Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is my sister, Moira."

I looked up at him, suddenly feeling even shorter than before, and hesitantly smiled, sticking my hand out.

"Moira Watson pleased to meet you."

He glanced down at my hand with a look of disgust before looking back at me with a blatantly false smile.

"Pleasure I'm sure."

All the evil I could conjure from my tiny body went into the glare I sent him. The smile slipped from his face and his brows furrowed in slight confusion.

"Right, come on, cab's waiting." John said hurriedly, picking up my bags and walking towards the exit. Sherlock quickly fell into step with him leaving me to trail behind.

"I don't think she likes me." I heard Sherlock whisper.

"I wonder why." John whispered back. I just grinned.

John threw the bags into the trunk and we all climbed into the cab, first me then John then Sherlock. I was glad about this because I didn't have to sit next to the human bread knife.

"Human bread knife!?" Holmes screeched. Well, it was the closest sound to a screech a man could make and I was suddenly even more thankful that John sat between the two of us.

* * *

The drive was silent but I could see Holmes' fingers twitching on his knee out of the corner of my eye. It was annoying me to the high heavens and I was very close to just ripping his fingers off.

"A librarian." he stated so suddenly that I was taken aback.

"Pardon?"

"Not now Sherlock."

"You're a librarian." he said again, completely ignoring John and shifting in his seat so he was facing me.

"Yes, how did you-"

"The way you speak your thoughts without noticing suggests that you work in a place where you do not have much interaction with others. This also implies that you have no social life, no friends or companions, your only relations here in London."

"Sherlock-"

"And the state of your hands-"

"What's wrong with my hands!?" I barked. He fixed me with a weary glare.

"They're rough and splintered from where you've been stacking books all day. Bet you've slipped once or twice, splintering your hands on the wood of the shelves."

I was quiet for a second, examining my hands.

"I could be a lumberjack."

There was that glare again.

"There is also a faint smell of old books emanating from your clothes. One last quick job before you left this morning? Like your job, do you? Of course you do, you hate to see someone else doing your work which means you have trust matters."

"Alright-"

"And the way you handled yourself in the station, you have your guard up but you try to hide it, why? The after effects of a dishonest lover, perhaps?"

"Sherlock-"

"Is that why you came here, now? You just couldn't stand living in the same place as the one who had hurt you so _much_. So you decided to come here, to stay with your brother, the soldier, where you knew you'd be safe, where you knew big bad Captain Watson would protect you. Am I wrong?"

There was silence in the cab, a long awkward silence in which I shut my eyes and mindlessly stroked the handle of the door.

"Oh so, you're starting to have second thoughts? It's either me or your boyfriend in-"

"It's you." I stated harshly, turning to glare at him.

The cabbie pulled up in front of a little café connected to a larger building. I stepped out of the cab and went to the trunk, opening it and taking out my bags. John took one of them and began walking to one of the doors. I past Sherlock as I followed John and stopped, fixing him with calm but firm look.

"Know your limits Mr. Holmes."

I left him there, while he looked terribly at a loss for words, and skipped up the steps after John.

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson?" John called when we entered the flat. An elderly lady came bounding down the stairs over to us and wrapped John in a hug.

"Hello dear," she looked up to me and smiled, "and who's this?"

"Uh, Mrs. H, this is my sister."

"Moira Watson, ma'am." I said, sticking out my hand.

"Oh we'll have none of that." she beamed and enveloped me in a hug of my own, causing me to laugh.

"Right, I've got your room all set up in 221C, come on now, and follow me."

We left the flat and the moment the door shut, I could hear the raised voice of my brother, no doubt chewing out Sherlock, at this thought I smiled again. We entered another flat, a tad grayer and…older, but it had promise.

"You'll have to excuse the state of the place, haven't been able to rent it out in a while due to the damp."

"I'm sure I'll be able to fix it up." I said as I put my cases down and stared around. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Now remember dear," she called as she turned to leave. "I am your _landlady_, not your housekeeper. Had to remind your brother of that a number of times."

"I'll remember Mrs. Hudson." I chuckled. I heard the door shut and sighed. I could just tell that this was going to be an eventful place to live.

"Ah well, best get started."

* * *

**Feedback please! **

**And Paige, girl this one's for you! **


	2. You have a Harpoon?

**So chapter 2. Hope ya'll are enjoying it so far. And don't worry, Moriarty will be showing up soon, just got to get Moira comfortable in her new flat. Psht, like that'll ever happen.**

**Anywho, I don't own Sherlock, yadda yadda yadda, lawsuit.**

**Annnd...BANG**

**Enjoy**

* * *

The rest of that day was spent roaming around the flat, writing down everything I would need to invest in. So far the list included kitchen ware, mugs silverware, plates, pots, pans and the like. Then there were towels for the washroom, some new sheets, a new mattress, and by the looks of it, I was going to have to evict some unwanted guests from the premise.

I would also have to call a Plummer, an electrician and someone to take care of the damp. This was defiantly going to take some time, luckily I had been saving up a lot of money for this and when I say a lot, I mean _a lot._ Of course I was being sent a few of my things from Elton, but most of them were old anyway.

"Right well, time waits for no man." I sighed and began tearing at the horrendous wallpaper.

* * *

"Kay, JOHN! I'M GOIN' OUT FOR PAINT!" I shouted as I passed his flat. I stopped when I saw that the door was ajar.

"John?" I called again, peeking inside. No one was in the living room and it looked like no one was in at all.

"I should just go." I whispered to myself, but of course, curiosity got the better of me and I stepped silently inside, leaving the door open behind me.

I stepped around the scattered objects on the ground, careful not to move anything. I could not leave a trace, not one. I had to be the ninja I knew I was. The buffalo with the headphones earned a very strange look from me.

"God." I murmured when I passed the skull. "What the heck goes on in here?"

The kitchen was what really got me. Beakers lay all over the place; chemicals bubbled and discarded body parts lay in the sink.

"Good lord." I muttered, but stopped. "Wait…" I looked back to the still bubbling chemicals. If they were still active then that meant someone was still here. My suspicions were confirmed when I felt cold metal against the back of my neck.

I turned very slowly and came face to face with none other than Sherlock Holmes himself. His face was set in stone but I saw the tip of his eyebrow twitch. Oh he was mad alright. I looked down to the weapon at my throat and saw it was a harpoon.

"You have a harpoon?"

"What are you doing in here?" he hissed.

"Your door was open," I replied coolly. "I thought someone might have broken in."

"No one can _break in_ here." he snarled at me, pressing the harpoon closer. "I suggest you leave. _Now_."

"Right, first you can put that harpoon down, if you don't mind."

"Out."

"Sherlock, you've left the door open again!" What the hell are you two doing?"

We looked to see John walking in with bags of groceries. He stared at Sherlock with a warning glare.

"She was in our flat, John. Touching things, _my_ things." Sherlock snarled.

"Right, first." John said, putting the bags on a side table and walking towards us. "We do not point the harpoon at family relations."

He lowered the harpoon with his finger, leaving Sherlock to glare at me and stand straight, because God knows he looked like an angry bridge troll before.

"Oh, before I forget, Moira. Here." he handed me a key. "Key to our flat in case of emergencies, but give me a fair bit of warning before you come." he said, nodding towards Sherlock, who looked at us confused.

"Why should she give you warning? I have no issue with it." he sniffed haughtily, dropping the harpoon and sashaying to his violin. He began to play, loud and rather terribly, so I took this as my cue to bow out.

"I'll be back later John. Goodbye Sherlock."

_SCREEEEEECH_

"Right, I'm going, I'm going."

* * *

It was getting dark by the time I returned to the flat. I carried with me four buckets of yellow paint and some other tools for the project I was about to undertake. I fished the key from my pocket and was about to stick it in the door when I noticed a man standing by the café.

He wore an expensive looking suit and held an umbrella, twirling it around like a pendulum. What could he possibly need an umbrella for? Wait a second, look at his nose.

"It would really do well for you not to speak your thoughts."

I could just feel the heat rushing to my face as I looked down at my shoes again.

"I'm sorry, I really am. It's just something I-"

"It's quite alright, Miss Watson. Now, you wouldn't know where your brother could be found, do you?"

"Uh, no. Wait, how did you know who I was?"

"MYCROFT!"

Sherlock's head poked through the door of 221B and he glared at the man.

"Ah, Sherlock, Miss Watson and I were just discussing the whereabouts of your companion."

"Uh yes, hello? How did he know who I was?"

"Not important. Mycroft-" Sherlock stepped aside and let the man enter his flat but not without one last glance at me. He nodded stiffly and flew through his door, swinging it shut behind him.

"Why do I even bother?"

I shut the door and went down the hall to my flat. The door was open and I carefully stepped inside.

"Oh good, your back."

"John. So this is where you've been?"

"Yes, some boxes came for you, and that god awful chair." he pointed over to my striped white/tan chair sitting in the corner.

"It's not God awful, it's perfect. Now what are you doing in here, and _how_ did you get in?"

"Mrs. H gave me a key, only seemed fair. And I was bringing in these boxes." He stretched his back and I heard a pop. Men.

"A strange man was looking for you outside."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I do believe he was a murder, the way he held that umbrella just doesn't sit right with me." I chuckled.

"Umbrella?" John asked his brow furrowed.

"JOHN!"

I sighed as the two men came barging through my door, both looking rather disgusted with the state of the place. Well, it wasn't my fault now was it?

"Yes, it's called knocking." I muttered, grabbing the box of dishware and moving into the kitchen.

"Didn't stop you." Sherlock replied.

I ignored him and set the box on the counter then pulled out my phone and began searching up contractors. Only when I heard the door shut did I realize the time. Sighing, I decided that the contractor could wait till tomorrow.

I pulled out one of my nightgowns from a box on the ground and quickly changed into it. I then made my way over to the chair in the corner, but not before I snatched up a book I had placed on the table. Settling into the chair, I opened the book and began to read, completely forgetting about the world around me.

* * *

It was the gunshots that woke me, accompanied by the shouting, all generating from the flat above me. I was barely cognizant when I heard John's voice yelling which was quickly silenced by another shot.

My eyes widened and I raced upstairs and burst into the flat. The door was unlocked. Again. I stopped at the sight before me. John stood in his pajamas and dressing gown, looking rather miffed and Sherlock sat in his chair, fully dressed, aiming a revolver at the wall.

"What the hell is going on in here!?" I screeched.

"Sherlock?" John motioned for him to answer.

"I'm bored."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Its 5 o'clock in the Morning."

"And you're in your nightgown. Now that we've stated the obvious."

I blushed furiously and turned to go back to my flat but ended up face to face with the chest of a man.

"Ah, Lestrade you have a case for us? Excellent."

I looked up and saw a very handsome man staring down at me. He had short grey hair but was by no means old. He was also very well built. A right brick wall, this one. His eyebrows shot up and I realized what I had just said aloud. I looked down at my bare feet to hide my now burning face.

"Excuse me." I muttered, pushing past him and running back the my flat where I slammed the door and groaned.

* * *

**Aww, poor Moira, just can't stop the thoughts from flowing. So, tell me what you think, what you want, any ideas, all that jazz.**

**I love you people so much. *sobs silently***

**~U-Hinge**


	3. Stand-In Watson

**Sorry it took so long, ma peeps. I was feeling...pretty low about this story. But now I'm back! So no worries.**

**Of course I own nothing except Moira.**

* * *

"Who was _that_?" Lestrade asked, watching the young woman race from the room.

"A nuisance." Sherlock answered.

"My sister." John glared at him. Lestrade looked at him with wide eyes, before staring back into the hallway.

"Wow."

John coughed awkwardly, "So, you, uh, have a case then?"

"Right," he stepped in and pulled out a file. "His name was Joseph Wickan. They found his body hanging from a tree in his front yard this morning."

Sherlock took the file from him. "Rope?"

"Not exactly."

Sherlock opened the file and stared at the crime scene photos. The man had been impaled on one of the branches of the tree, but he could not have been thrown from above.

"He would have had to be pushed through the branch."

"Looks that way, yeah."

"Jesus." John said when he saw the picture. Sherlock simply grinned and grabbed his coat from the chair.

"Get dressed John, we've got a case."

…

James Moriarty sat in his chair, feet on the desk, staring out the window of his office and chewing on a piece of gum. He was bored, terribly bored. There just seemed to be nothing to do these days, save for killing a few people here and there, but they were all horribly boring as well. He needed something to take his mind off the near death experience he had recently been through with Sherlock. Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Sherlock! Ohhh, why didn't I _think_ of that?" he grinned.

He clicked the button on his mouse and six angles of the inside of the building flashed onto the screen. He had set security cameras all around that place, it was relatively easy, and he was even able to steal a slice of pie from that Mrs. Hudson. The flat appeared empty, no one moving whatsoever.

"Not in today, Sherlock?" he muttered disappointedly to himself. He sank lower into his chair and pouted like a child. Then something shifting around on the screen caught his eye.

"Hello. Who are you?"

* * *

**Moira's POV**

"So you'll be able to get it done soon?" I asked the contractor.

"Absolutely, I'll get me boys in here tomorrow if it suits yeh."

"Suits me brilliantly." I grinned. "Thank you so much."

"Not a problem dearie."

The contractor left and I shut the door, now knowing exactly what needed doing for my poor, ugly little flat. Not much actually, you'd be surprised what little had to be done.

"Right, now the lights."

I first tried turning on the light switch. The lamp sputtered to life and I smiled with relief. Then the bulbs kind of…exploded.

"Right, putting lightbulbs on the list."

I decided I would wait for the contractor before I started painting or anything so I gathered what toiletries I had and made for the bathroom. Needless to say I was less than impressed with what I saw. The tiles were covered in grime, the shower was worse and the toilet, good Lord.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The afternoon was spent scrubbing the tub, washing the walls and checking the plumbing, which, after exploding in my face, seemed fine. I then began unpacking, towels, shower curtain and the like. It took a good while, but eventually I left the bathroom, leaving it sparkling and immaculate. All of a sudden, I felt my stomach churn in hunger.

"Oh wow, when was the last time I ate?"

Grabbing my purse, I decided that I may as well go out, I wanted to see London anyway. I flew out my door, nearly ramming into John on the way, with Sherlock standing behind him looking bored.

"John? What's wrong?"

John regained his composure and chuckled lightly.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong, I just came down to check how you were making out."

"Oh I'm fine, perfectly, absolutely fine. Just going out for some lunch."

"Right, okay then. Just making sure all's well."

Sherlock let out what sounded like a snort. Sending a quick glare at Sherlock, I pecked John on the cheek and smiled.

"I'm fine, John. All's good."

A small smile crept up his face, creating wrinkles on his young façade. He nodded silently and I walked back upstairs with him, Sherlock trailing behind us.

"So…who was that guy in your flat this morning?"

I giggled as John groaned.

* * *

"Watson?" Moriarty asked incredulously.

"Yes sir." Sebastian nodded, throwing the file onto his desk. "She arrived on the train yesterday morning."

"Busy bee." Jim mumbled, fingering through the folder.

"From a small village called Elton-"

"Boring."

"Librarian-"

"Boooring."

"A shattered romantic relationship-"

"Good God, Seb! She's so completely ordinary." he laughed.

Turning back to his computer, he watched the two Watsons walk up the steps from 221C. Sherlock walked stiffly behind them, every now and then his face cracking into a grin, but he would hide it so fast that neither Watson would see it.

"And now he has _two_! That's not very fair." Moriarty whined. "SEB!"

"Hmmm?"

"Get the car. I think it's about time Sherly learned to share."

* * *

I ended up sitting in a small café halfway across London, enjoying a small shepherd's pie. I stared out the window dreamily, watching the people make their way to and fro in front of the café and nearly jumped out of my skin when Sherlock Holmes slammed his face against the window, sans John.

"Good God!" I shouted, clutching my heart.

He threw himself through the door and stalked over to my table. I regarded him with a cautious glare; though replacing his usual stoic expression was a rather foolish grin which grew wider as he fell into the booth across from me.

"Mr. Holmes."

"Watson! Though not quite Watson, but close enough."

"What's got you so-?"

"Jolly?"

"Psychotic." cue one exasperated look.

"Since you ask, it is this." From his coat, he fished out a file and laid it open on the table.

"Christ." I breathed, staring at the photos. "That branch goes, zoom, right through him. Wow look at that."

I caught Sherlock's surprised face and shrugged. I didn't get out much and usually only read this sort of thing in books.

"And why did you bring it to me? More importantly how did you know I was here?"

"I saw you through the window and it was either you or that deaf homeless man. To delve deeper, I needed a fresh pair of eyes."

"And where is John?"

"I left him at the supermarket."

* * *

**At the supermarket**

"WORK YOU BLOODY MACHINE!"

* * *

"I see. Well what do you want me to say? The poor sod seems to be impaled on a branch. Not in the usual way, mind you. I'd say if you wanted to impale him, you'd do it from above. Easier, you see?"

"I do." he nodded thoughtfully.

"So, it seems whoever did this wanted people to see him, his face. I'd say it wasn't as much about killing him as sending a message. Am I getting it right?"

But Sherlock wasn't listening anymore. His head was in his hands and he was mumbling quickly to himself. Suddenly, his head snapped up and his eyes darted back and forth.

"Are you-?"

_SLAM_

His hands slammed down on the table and his eyes searched mine.

"The maid."

He pushed himself out of the booth and threw a ten pound note on the table.

"On me."

"Whoa, wait. Just hang on a second." I ran after him and caught him by the arm. "Just what was that…thing you did back there with your...eyes?!"

"Ah, my dear Watson. Your completely average mind has opened mine."

"EXCUSE ME!?" he sighed and stared at me.

"You know what I mean."

"No, I really think I don't-"

"I shall collect your dear brother and inform Lestrade." he breathed in deeply and looked down at me. "Yes, you shall make an admiral stand-in Watson."

"But I _am_ a Watson!" but he just waved his hand and flew out the door. I sighed and stared at my pie, feeling more than a little put off.

"Stand in Watson indeed."

* * *

**Well, chapter 4 will be up soon, much more Moriarty, but I warn you it shall be more than a little...invigorating. And fun for me to write.**

**Loves to all...**

**~U-Hinged**


	4. Why Always the Cab Drivers?

**Whew, sorry for the long wait folks. It's been pretty crazy on my end, plus I just started Supernatural so I'm sure you all understand what that means.**

**Anyway, Disclaimer and all, I own nothing but Moira, blah blah blah BEGIN!**

* * *

Here's something I learned rather quickly in London, cabs don't like to stop. So when I ran outside, I half expected to be waiting forever but before I could even wave it down, one of them screeched right onto the curb in front of me.

"Oh wow, yeah great."

As I slid into the seat and shut the door, I spied a few drops of rain hit he window.

"Baker street please."

"A good thing too, miss," The cabbie said, "looks like its just starting to drizzle."

"Oh…yes." I stared at the back of his seat. He sounded Irish; I've always loved Irish people. Their voices are so soft. A light chuckle sounded in front and my face grew pink.

"Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Not to worry dear, between you and me I think it's cute." he chuckled.

We drove for a while longer in a silence I was desperately trying to keep. Every now and then, the cabbie would look back at me in his mirror and just smile. I would smile back, rather awkwardly before turning my head.

"Ah here we are."

We drove towards a large building that was definitely _not_ 221B and I looked at the cabbie, confused.

"Uh, this isn't-"

"SEB!" the cabbie had opened his window and was now shouting to a man standing on the curb. He looked at the cab and grinned, rushing towards it. He flung the door open and slid in next to me.

"Um, excuse me but what's going on?"

"Any problems Jim?"

"None at all, actually. The little one's been fairly quiet."

"Alright, if you'll excuse me."

As I reached for the door handle, I felt a hand snake around my waist and pull me back roughly. I cried out and the cab sped off down the street. The man from the curb kept me locked in the grip of a right gorilla.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"DAMN IT!"

"Yeesh," muttered the driver. "Got a set of lungs on her, this one."

"Needle, Jim?"

"Right, of course, silly me." _Jim _reached over to the seat next to him and grabbed a small black case which he handed to _Seb_.

"Wait, needle?"

"Shhh, darling, it'll only take a second." Jim purred.

"No! What needle!? What the hell is going on?" I struggled in Seb's grip, stomping on his foot and clawing at his chest. But he stayed firm and somehow managed to get the needle out of the case, all the while holding onto me.

He brought my head back so that my neck was exposed and I stared with wide eyes at the size of the needle he brought out.

"Jesus."

"Now, don't move. I'm not really a professional at this."

There was a sharp sting for about two seconds before everything was thrown into darkness.

* * *

**Narrators POV**

"-that's why the swan attacked you, Sherlock."

"I still don't see what the shirt had to do with it."

Sherlock and John had just returned to 221B after a day of catching criminals and tending swans. John went to unlock the door but found it was already open.

"Did you-"

"No." Sherlock muttered, pushing cautiously past him into the flat. He stopped suddenly and John leaned over to see past him. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Moira?"

Sitting in Sherlock's chair, face completely straight but make-up running, sat Moira. She regarded them with a careful glance and then…she started to blink.

"Afternoon." she said as she blinked. Three short blinks then three longer blinks followed by three short blinks.

"Moira," John said desperately, inching towards her. "Come over here."

"I'm afraid I can't do that Johnny-boy."

At the name, both John and Sherlock froze and a small chuckle was heard from the kitchen. One shined and expensive shoe stepped out followed by the inquisitive face of James Moriarty.

"Hope you don't mind, thought I'd pop by for a visit." Moriarty said into the phone he held. Moira said the same thing, exactly as he did. The two men could only watch as Moriarty strolled over to where Moira sat and leaned down next to her.

"And can you believe it!? I found this young lady going the same way and I simply had to give her a lift."

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HER, YOU BASTARD!" John shouted, taking a step towards Moriarty.

"Ah, ah, ah." Jim said, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Moira. John stopped dead, staring wide eyed at Moriarty then at Moira, who had her eyes shut tight.

"Alright," he said, stepping back next to Sherlock with his hands up. "Fine. Just please-"

"What, Johnny? Please what?"

"Don't hurt her." his voice cracked slightly when he said this and Moira let out a small whimper.

"Now, the only reason I even _bothered_ to come back here, is so that you two wouldn't have to worry your pretty little heads about where Little Miss Watson is."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"Oh? You mean you don't know? I told you last time we met that I should get myself a live-in. Now you have two and that's not very fair at all. Think of it as…alleviating the stress."

Sherlock and John just stared at him and he shifted rather uncomfortably.

"Well, we'd best be off." Jim said awkwardly. "Up you get, dear." Moira didn't move.

"Ugh, has she always been this stubborn?" he asked as he pointed the gun at John.

With a small intake of breath, Moira stood up quickly. Moriarty put the gun down and didn't take it out again, even when she ran over and locked John in a tight embrace.

"Way to lay it on thick, big bro." she whispered so quietly that only John could hear.

"Just be careful, he's a little harder than the other ones."

"Ew."

"Just hold out 'till we find you."

"Got it."

"Aww, isn't it adooorable, Sherlock?" James cooed.

"Hardly."

Moira released John and sent a small wink to Sherlock who, not for the last time, looked confused. Moriarty stepped behind her and John glared at him.

"I don't think your brother likes me very much." he whispered to her. "Well, it was a pleasure seeing you again, gentlemen."

"He put his hand on the small of Moira's back and the gun to her head and together they left the flat.

"Toodles!"

* * *

The door shut firmly and Sherlock stared at John for a moment before flying across the room in a flurry.

"Don't worry John, we'll find her."

John simply stood, paralyzed in the middle of the room, trying to really process what had just happened. His sister, his little sister had just been kidnapped.

"John?" Sherlock called, noticing his unmoving friend. He looked up and met Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock saw the realization and panic begin to grow on his face.

"Sherlock-"

"I've already got Lestrade, John. Don't worry."

"My sister, Sherlock-"

"I know, John, don't-"

"Poor Jim."

Sherlock stopped, putting the phone down for a moment to fix John with a bewildered expression.

"What?"

"Never mind." he said quickly. "Lestrade?"

"Yes of course." Sherlock picked up the phone again and began to speak to Lestrade. John on the other hand, walked mindlessly over to the coffee table and skimmed the newspaper, thinking about his poor Moira and the great shock Moriarty was in for.

"Headstrong and cocksure, that's my little Moira." He muttered to himself. "You watch yourself Mr. Moriarty."

"What was that John?"

"Nothing, Sherlock, absolutely nothing."

* * *

**Hahaha! Next chapter up sooner I promise. Also, any ideas you have or want to share, I am open to them!**

**~U-Hinged**


	5. A Special Game of Tag

**Hey guys, chapter Five up! Thanks to all who left reviews! This chapter gets seriously saucey, if you know what I mean; wink wink nudge nudge.**

**I own nothing blah blah blah and all that, now here we go!**

* * *

To say I wasn't frightened as Moriarty dragged me back to the cab would be a lie. In reality I was utterly terrified. He had one hand firmly wrapped around my wrist and the other holding the gun to my back. I was honestly surprised that no one noticed; we were on a busy London street after all.

We reached the cab and I saw that Sebastian had moved to the driver's seat and was tapping the wheel impatiently. Moriarty, ever the gentlemen, opened the door and waited for me to get in and I, ever the mule, stood defiantly, glaring up at him.

He sighed and tightened his grip on my wrist, his nails digging into my soft skin. I cringed only slightly but carefully stepped into the cab, followed closely be Moriarty. Pressing myself against the far side of the cab, I put as much distance between him and myself. It didn't last long however.

As soon as Moriarty shut the door, he sent me a quick hungry sideways glance before sliding over towards me, thoroughly trapping me He reached over my shoulder, making me freeze, and locked the cab door. The cab sped off and he leaned in close.

"Well, isn't this…cozy?"

I turned me head and looked out the window, trying to distract myself from his hot breath on my face.

"Shy? It's alright darling, Daddy can wait."

He moved away, but kept his gaze locked on me, his eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. A smile crept up his face as he stared expectantly at me, waiting for me to do something. In all honesty, he looked like a child who had just gotten a puppy and was waiting for it to do some sort of trick. I sent him a cold glare but his smile only grew.

Suddenly, the cab lurched sharply, throwing me from my seat and straight into the arms of the psychotic Irishman. My eyes widened and I tilted my head bac, so I was staring straight into his dark brown eyes.

"Hello…" he cooed.

It was around this time that I really started to panic. Whether it was his close proximity or the hand that was slowly making it's up my calf, I don't know but whatever it was, John's training kicked in and I let out a sharp kick backwards and nailed him right in the shin. He let out a sharp a sharp cry and Sebastian turned quickly.

"What's going on back there!?"

Slamming the back of my head against his face, I heard the satisfying crunch of Moriarty's nose. Before he had time to recover, I jumped across the seats and reached to unlock the door. It swung open, the wind whipping at my face as the car continued down the deserted highway. Looking quickly over my shoulder, I saw that Moriarty had seen me and was piecing together my plan. His face went from angry to baffled as he looked from me to the road.

"You're not really-"

But before he could finish, I flung herself from the speeding car. As I was still in the air, I tucked her body into roll and landed, rolling on the pavement. But as I landed, my head cracked against the concrete, making me dizzy.

I heard the screech of tires and saw, in my now blurring vision, the cab accelerating backwards towards me. My muscles groaned and my head swam as I pushed myself off the ground and began running away from the ever nearing car.

I faltered only slightly as I ran down the abandoned road. Staring around, I saw nothing but long patches of fields and I started to see spots form in front of my eyes. I stopped running and put my hand to my head. Bringing it back, I saw blood. The sound of tires came from in front of me.

I looked up to see Moriarty strutting towards me. I started to back away but my head was spinning and my legs gave out from under me. I felt a pair of strong arm wrap around my waist, keeping me from falling.

"Now look what you've done to yourself." he cooed, tilting my head up gently and pushing a lock of hair from my eyes. The darkness began to envelope me and the last thing I saw was his condescending, pitying smile as he loomed over me.

* * *

The sound of birds filled my ears and my eye softly fluttered open. I found myself in a large room, atop one of the most comfortable beds I have ever slept on. But something was digging sharply into my left ankle. I moved to sit up and threw off the covers, revealing a metal shackle attached from my ankle to the bed post.

"Oh my God." I muttered as the memories flooded back to me.

My breathing became short and ragged and I began to tug roughly on the chain, trying desperately to get away. A short sob escaped my throat as I pulled on the chain. Eventually, I gave up, falling angrily back onto the bed and letting out a loud scream of frustration.

Footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door and my eyes grew wide. I quickly turned my body and shut my eyes tight, pretending still, to be unconscious. The door creaked open slowly and the sound of feet on the thick shag carpet grew louder. I heard a soft sigh on the other side of the bed.

"If you think you can fool me, darling, you have another thing coming."

All of a sudden, I was flung off the bed by the abrupt weight change of another person jumping onto the opposite side of the bed. The shackle nearly ripped my leg off as I fell to the floor and I let out a shriek of both pain and surprise.

I looked up and stared into the wincing face of James Moriarty, my captor.

"Oops, sorry about that, dear, here, let me help you up."

He reached out his hand to help me off the floor, but I simply glared up at him and batted it away. He shot me a glare and moved off the bed, around to where I lay on the floor.

"Stubborn little girl, aren't you." He crouched down and wrapped his hands around my waist; lifting me up and throwing me back onto the bed. A low growl escaped my throat and I sent him the dirtiest look I could must. He tutted softly before sitting down on the bed next to me.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, darling. You'll simply adore it here." He took my hand and when I tried to rip it back, his grip tightened and his face became dark. "Or you won't. Either way, my dear, you'll be here for a while, so you may as well get _used_ to it."

I tugged my hand roughly, trying to take it back when he all of a sudden let go, causing me to tumble back and my head hit the backboard. I yelped in pain and a chuckle came from Moriarty.

"Well you are a clumsy little thing aren't you?" he inched closer to me and took my head in his hands, turning it gently from left to right. "It's not as if you didn't have a bad enough bump already."

While he was examining me, I took the time to examine him as well, since all the other times I'd been with him; I'd either been drugged or violently escaping. He was wearing an expensive looking suit with his hair neatly combed and parted.

In all honesty, he would have been unquestionably attractive if, you know, he hadn't kidnapped me. I groaned when a smile lit up his face. I really had to work on that.

"Attractive, huh?"

"No." I mumbled, turning my now tomato red face.

"_She speaks_!" Moriarty shouted suddenly. I jumped a little but his face was a look of pure pride and accomplishment. I simply stared at him with wide, confused eyes and his grin shrunk down to a plain, happy smile.

"I don't believe we've been formally introduced." he said standing. "James Moriarty." he held out his hand.

"Moira Watson." I replied, but did not shake his hand. His smile faltered for a moment but returned with vigor.

"You are very much like your brother, do you know that Moira?"

"I do." I shifted slightly on the bed. "Why have you kidnapped me?"

Moriarty's eyebrows went up and he turned from me and began pacing beside the bed.

"I'm not really sure myself," he chuckled quietly. "Mainly because I thought it would be funny, but maybe because Sherlock already has John, he doesn't need another one."

"Another what?" I asked, not fully understanding what he meant.

"Constant! Someone so dreadfully ordinary!" he cried, whipping around to face me. I took that as an insult and glared at him.

"Oh don't look at me like that, you know its true." he turned from me again to stare out the window. "It get terribly boring when one is alone, my dear, and horribly lonely."

He flew around to me again and practically leapt on the bed, staring at me with wide excited eyes.

"Which is where _you_ come in! You're my Watson! My live in!"

"You're insane." I sputtered, not really sure of what to make of the situation.

"You're just getting that now?" he asked, looking at me through his lashes.

We were silent for a few minutes, simply staring at each other, analyzing. Well, he was analyzing, I was looking for a way out.

"Hey," I said finally. "Could you take off that damn shackle, it's cutting into my ankle and I'm pretty sure I'm bleeding."

He looked somewhat taken aback at my question, but fished around in his pocket and produced a small key, which he fitted into the lock. It clicked and the shackle fell off easily.

_Wow,_ I thought, making sure to keep my mouth shut, _this guy was a bigger moron than I thought._

I moved slowly, turning my body so my feet were dangling over the edge of the bed. I moved my head up and met his eyes. A smile moved slowly up my face and his brows slowly descended on his.

Then I lashed out, my leg, once again making contact with his shin. But this time, he let out an excited WHOOP and stumbled back a step. I jumped off the bed and bolted for the door, only to have two arms grab me roughly and pull me back.

"You want to play tag? Alright, let's play tag. Daddy's it." His arms let go at once and he began to count.

" 5-"

I wasted no time in legging it out of the room and down the hall. I still heard his counting when I came to a long spiral staircase. My bare feet ran down the steps taking two at a time, my breathing coming out panicked short. I reached the bottom just in time to hear-

"_Ready or not, here I come_!"

Breathing in sharply, I ran across the marble tiling and towards a pair of large, oak doors which I hoped led outside. The sound of his footsteps echoed from the hall above and I pulled on the door handles. Locked.

"For God's sake."

"Is that you I hear, darling?" came his soft Irish voice. He was near the stairs; that much I knew. Turning, I saw a long hall leading to another huge set of doors. I ran as fast as I could down the wide corridor. On the walls were paintings I had only ever seen when I went to The Louvre all those years ago.

I stood gawking at a portrait of the Mona Lisa and started to wonder if the one in Paris was even the original. Probably not. The click of Italian shoes on the marble floor alerted me to the proximity of the psychotic man.

I raced wildly down the hallway, bare feet thumping noisily on the cold floor. My fingers traced the walls as I continued down, trying to keep myself from collapsing. Finally, I reached the doors and, throwing myself through them, I found myself in what looked the sitting room.

My eyes scanned the room quickly, looking for something, anything that would help me against Captain Crazy out there. Then I got an idea! I ran over to the sofa and began to tug it towards the door, placing it directly in front, then came the dresser and the fern.

"What are you doing in there, darling?" came the annoyingly high voice of my captor behind the door.

"Building a bloody IKEA dresser!" I muttered.

As I stood back from my newly made barricade, he began to kick at the door, trying to force his way in. I didn't wait around to see if it would hold; instead I raced across the room and through the door in the far corner.

Shutting it aggressively behind me, I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath. I was startled to find myself in a large kitchen, which was absolutely fantastic for me because as you know, where there is a kitchen, there are knives.

I began to search through drawers and cupboards, wondering where the hell the cutlery was. Then I found it, of course he would keep it in the last drawer. I picked up a large steak knife, finally feeling as if I was one step ahead, but then I paused.

It was quiet, absolutely silent. That meant that the banging on the door of the sitting room had stopped, and well, that meant-

"Playing with knives can be _very_ dangerous, my dear."

I spun around, whipping the knife forward only to him push me against one of the white washed walls of the kitchen, slamming my hand against it roughly, making me drop the knife which he kicked away with his shoe.

Turning his attention back to me, Moriarty pinned my hands above my head and pressed his body against mine. He brought his face close to mine and I could feel his warm breath on my face.

"It looks as if I won the game." he whispered softly.

I could already feel the blood rushing to my face and I internally cursed my over functioning hormones. Seeing my pink tinged cheeks, Moriarty cooed gently and began to stroke them, leaving his other hand to hold my wrists. I tilted my head away from him but he quickly grabbed my chin, turning me to look at him.

"You're very rude, has anyone ever told you that?" His voice had become low and dark.

For once in my life I had no idea what to do. Honestly, I wasn't stupid enough to aggravate him anymore than I already had but this position was really getting uncomfortable.

"Can you just-" I muttered, motioning for him to move. He simply smiled down at me with feigned confusion.

"What?"

"Please, you're making me-" I gestured wildly, trying to convey my feeling but he simply shook his head, the smile still on his face.

"Use your words, sweetheart." he moved both hands so they were above each of my shoulders. I pushed against his chest, shoving him away but he snatched my wrists again and drove his left leg between mine.

"Please, just let me go." I whispered angrily.

"_There_ you go!" he beamed, but stepped out of my way. I eyed him warily, stepping cautiously to the side and turning to run back to the room, but not before he satisfied his urge to slap my ass. Sparing him one last cold glare, I raced back through the halls and up the stairs, his high cold laughter following me until I slammed the door shut.

I crossed the room and curled myself into the farthest corner, my eyes tearing slightly. Pulling my knees up to my chin and leaning against the wall, I rested my head back and shut my eyes, simply wishing that I could wake up from this nightmare.

* * *

**Hmmmm?**


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